


I Want You [To Stay]

by CathrineMcCord



Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bondlock kind of ..., M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathrineMcCord/pseuds/CathrineMcCord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait, we are not-“, Q starts, but Bond obviously has other plans.</p>
<p>“I’ll be taking the room upstairs Mrs. Hudson, if it’s still available, that is.”</p>
<p>“Oh of course it is dear! I’ll be delighted to have you two!”<br/>_</p>
<p>Q and Bond accidentally become flatmates at 221B Baker Street</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want You [To Stay]

**Author's Note:**

> For this Prompt
> 
> chibura asked:  
> Bondlock prompt: Q and Bond accidentally become flatmates at 221B Baker Street, after John moved away because of Sherlock’s death. They are not a couple yet everyone thinks they are already shagging! Mrs Hudson, Angelo, Eve and M… And Q finds himself saying “He is not my date/ I am not gay/ I am married to work” frequently. Bond enjoys this situation very much.

Inspired by [STAY](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHDbvMtMsbg) **  
**

**______________**

Q thinks he quite likes this flat.

No matter how much he despises MI6 policy that requires their higher ranking agents to move every 18 month, he rather likes the outcome this time. He can’t remember the last time he settled down in a flat that wasn’t brand-new. It is fully furnished, a given for all his issued flats, but this one is different. The table has scratches, for one. There is stain on the carpet and the couch looks like it’s been sat on quite often. Q thinks that the hole in the kitchen counter had to be from something chemical. Also he can see bullet holes in the wall. It has a strange comfort to it. Fitting for his line of work, he thinks.

“Do you like it?”, the small woman behind him asks. Mrs. Hudson, his new landlady. He never had one.

Q gives her his best smile, “It’s quite lovely really.”

“There is another bedroom upstairs, if-“, she trails of and there is suddenly something very dark overshadowing her features. She looks fragile.

“Ah, never mind, dear …”, she says, her voice gone soft and distant and she pats him on the shoulder as if he was someone else. Q’s interest is piqued, but he knows when to stay quiet, so he does.

The warm and motherly smile returns to her lips after a few seconds and she gives him another pat on the shoulder. This one seems colder.

“Just let me know if you need something, dear!”, she says and shuffles downstairs again.

Q has the feeling that he won’t, but that she will look after him nevertheless.

 

//

 

Q finds a tattered book about criminal psychology under the bed that had also come with the flat.

He knows for a fact that the owner intended to hide it. The fact is, that it wasn’t just lying  under the bed,  it was tucked away under a floorboard that was _located_ under the bed. Hidden from plain sight.

It’s also not tattered because its old. It’s tattered because it’s been read one too many times. 

There is a inscription on the inside of the cover.

_Happy Birthday, don’t burn this one too! - John_

_P.S.: Don’t do the thing you’re thinking right now either, whatever that is!_

It looks interesting so Q starts reading it.

 

//

 

Q has lived at 221b Baker Street for three weeks when it happens.

By now he is so accustomed with the flat that he doesn’t have to turn the lights on to know his way around. He also knows instantly that something is off.

There is a Walther in the inner pocket of his coat, because there has to be, but he knows that taking it out would cause so much noise, that it would turn out pretty useless in the end. He turns the lights on instead.

It earns him a low groan from the man lying on his (not really his) couch.

“007.”,Q sights and turns to hang up his coat.

“Q.”, the voice is raspy and exhausted. As Q walks over, he catalogs every cut, every little scratch. There a many, but most of them a shallow. Bond will live.

“I see you have risen from the dead yet again. Congratulations.” Bond is silent.

Q lets himself sink down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Bond slowly lifts the arm that covers his eyes to peek at his Quartermaster. The blue eyes spark with fire, no matter how worn out the lines of his face look. Q holds the gaze unwavering.

“Have you forgotten your own address?” , Q murmurs as he reaches out to poke at one rather nasty looking gash at Bonds chin.

Bond catches his wrist in mid air.

It nearly surprises Q how strong his grasp is. The calloused fingers draw away slowly.

Q stands up, calls in with M and then goes to his (not really his) bedroom to continue the book.           

 

//

 

When Q wakes up the next morning he is still dressed but there is a blanked wrapped around him. He can’t remember drifting off. Or the last time he slept so peaceful.

As he sits up groggily he registers that he flat swims with the smell of tea. Ah, he thinks, Mrs. Hudson. Already dressed he only has to get up. He can hear the soft voice of his landlady coming through his bedroom door and wonders, suddenly who she is talking too.

“So are you going to take the room upstairs or-“, the old lady stops talking as he steps into the kitchen.

Bond is sitting at his kitchen table (no, not really his) calmly sipping a cup of tea. There is another one waiting for Q.

“What are you still doing here?”, Q squints his eyes, because he just noticed that his glasses must have slipped of while he was asleep. He can make out Bond’s confident smirk nevertheless.

“Oh, I see …”, Mrs. Hudson chirps happily,”… so you won’t be needing a second room after all!”

Q thinks he can see her wink at him.

“Wait, we are not-“, Q starts, but Bond obviously has other plans.

“I’ll be taking the room upstairs Mrs. Hudson, if it’s still available, that is.”

“Oh of course it is dear! I’ll be delighted to have you two!”, she claps her hands and her smile grows so fond, so full of memories they don’t share, that it breaks Q’s heart a little.

As his landlady (theirs now) makes her way down the stairs again, muttering something about cookies, Bond opens the newspaper besides him. Q doesn’t need his glasses to know he looks smug.

“Why?”

“They sold my flat again.”

Q thinks he is missing something, but Bond hides behind the paper, so he probably has to do with what he has. He sits down and sips his tea.

When he later goes to retrieve his glasses he finds them neatly folded on the bedside table.

 

//

 

“Don’t look like that 00- Bond. This is a restaurant, there is no one here that poses a threat.”

Q thinks it was probably a bad idea to take Bond out to eat so shortly after he returned from the dead. But then again, the fridge is empty. There is only so much time to spare for shopping with a job like his.  

There is a young waiter making his way over to them as they take their seats at the place by the window. Q is about to voice his drink order when the young man seems to freeze mid motion.

“Oh.”, he says and blinks. Then he starts laughing. “Oh!”, he says again and dashes away to speak to an older looking, slightly corpulent man. Q strains his ears, but he can only make out “Don’t they look like” and “like an older and younger version”. Just as he wants to complain, the older man walks over to them. It turns out to be the owner, Angelo.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,”, he says, “But the two of you have quite some resemblance with my two dearest customers.”

Q furrows his brows. There is the same sadness in the man’s eyes  that is in Mrs. Hudson’s.

“To make up for the inconvenience, anything on the menu, whatever you want, free, on the house, for you,” ,he takes a second to wink at Bond, “and for your date!”

“He is not my date!”, Q protests, but Angelo just laughs.   

 

//

 

At some point all of Bond’s belongings make it into the flat.

Q only notices as he trips over one of Bonds weights and lands flat on his face.

 

//

 

When Q comes home, about a week later, Bond sits at the living room table cleaning is gun. There is a cup of tea waiting for him, sitting idly beside the gun oil.

Q notes for himself that he doesn’t find that scene disconcerting at all.

 

//

 

Bond doesn’t seem eager to be cleared for duty.

He stays at the flat and Q finds he is ok with that, because he pays his part of the rent on time and there is always fresh tea. Lucky for him, Bond makes excellent tea.

As long as MI6 won’t push, he won’t either.

 

//

 

No matter how easy Bond decides to take things, Q still has work to do. He comes home in the middle of the night, exhausted and tired, but too wired up to sleep, more often than not. Bond is always awake.

Today he is sitting on the couch, watching some late night black and white movie. He has his feet up on the coffee table, besides them a mug of tea. He looks so cozy and comfortable in his t-shirt and sweats, that Q thinks the world just isn’t fair.

The inviting smile Bond gives him isn’t fair either.

Q finds himself striping off his coat and kicking off his shoes, leaving them in the middle of the doorway, lunging himself on the couch besides Bond. It’s not the first time they sit beside each other, but it’s the first time Q let’s his head fall onto the agent’s shoulder. Bond let’s him.

“You are unfair, Bond.”, Q mumbles into the fabric of the older man’s t-shirt. The dark smell starts to take him under.

A deep chuckle rumbles through Bonds chest.

It lulls Q in even more. His head starts to slip down Bond’s chest till a strong arm wraps around him, to keep him in place.

“It’s James.”

The crook of James neck feels warm against Q’s nose and a smile tugs at his lips before he drifts of completely.        

 

//

 

When MI6 decides they want their best agent back, they send Eve.

 She is not exactly sure if she should be surprised about the fact that she finds Bond sitting on the couch, the head  of his Quartermaster tucked into his lap, both of them fast asleep.

As soon as she steps into the room the agents eyes fly open, blue ice piercing through her in clear warning. The arm he has curled around Q tightens visibly. Protectively she thinks. It stirs the younger man awake.

“Well, 007, I can see quite clearly now why you haven’t reported back.”, Eve says with a smirk on her lips. She let’s herself fall into the grey armchair. “Looks like you have everything you could wish for within your reach …”

“Eve.”, Bond says as way of greeting and his arm slips to Q’s waist as Q sits up. He doesn’t take it away. Q blinks owlishly at Eve, his glasses amiss once again. Bond retrieves them from the armrest.

“As much as I’m in favor of your little encounter, I’m afraid Queen and Country need you back Bond.”

“Encounter?!”, Q squeaks, and god he hates his voice in the morning.

“I’ve never been gone.”, Bond says calmly.  Eve’s smirk turns into a full blown smile. Q wonders if it’s mandatory for field agents to be able to look that smug.

“Huhu!”, Mrs. Hudson knocks on the door, her cheeks still rosy from the crisp air outside. “Oh hello there!”, she says turning to Eve, “I’ve never seen you here, dear. Are you a friend of our lovely couple here?”

“What? Mrs. Hudson, we are still not-“

Eve rises to shake the landlady’s hand. “You could say that, I suppose.”, she smiles, “I’m Eve.”

“Oh pleasure to meet you!  I’ve never seen them have friends over, always enjoying their togetherness! You know how they are!”, Mrs. Hudson leans towards Eve secretively, putting in a wink at the end. _Another_ wink! Q thinks about banging his head on the table.

“I’m not actually gay!”, he says and it is really more a shout.

He earns three pairs of chuckles and Bonds hand tightens around his hip.         

 

//

 

Bond get’s cleared for duty the very same day. He leaves for the next mission on the following.

Q is still the steady voice in Bonds ear, but Bond is no longer the steady presence at Q’s flat (their flat, really). 

Q sleeps on the couch for the full thirteen days Bond is gone. He just can’t seem to fall asleep in his bed, and sleep is crucial for him to be at his best.

The cushions of the couch smell faintly like Bond and the mug on the coffee table is never refilled.  

 

//

 

Bond comes back relatively unscathed.

Q sees him walk around MI6, he reads the debrief and the medical report, but he only feels the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he steps into 221b to find Bond sitting at the kitchen table, a freshly brewed cup of tea sitting beside him.

Funny thing is, Q still can’t fall asleep in his own bed.

 

//

 

They develop a kind of routine.

A big part of it is going home together, whenever Bond isn’t on a mission. (The small part is Q sleeping on the couch, whenever he is.)

It’s a rainy evening when M stops them at the front gate.

“Q, Bond.”, he nods his head in greeting. Bond steps a little closer to Q.Q doesn’t notice.

“I hear you have started sharing a flat,”, it’s the understatement of the year, they have for nearly five month now, M, of course, knew from the beginning, “and while I’m certain accounting is happy about lesser costs, I just wanted to make sure that everything is in the right order. Your private life is, of course, a matter of your own concern. Still …”

Q looks puzzled for a moment. Bond straightens.

“… I just would want to be positive that this is a well thought about step.”

“Ah, this … you think we are …”, Q stumbles over his own words as soon as he catches up (not M too), “Sir, this is purely practical! I can assure you that! I mean, just think about it, us? We are both married to our work!”

Q looks to Bond for confirmation. The agents face is hard as stone. He isn’t even looking at Q, eyes instead trained on M, in what looks like a unspoken threat. M stares back intently (he wouldn’t be M if he didn’t).  

Q swallows. His throat feels dry all of a sudden.  He isn’t sure if any of the things he said have been heard at all.  

Then M nods slowly.

“Good luck Bond.”, he says and leaves with another nod for Q.

Q has the uneasy feeling that something very important has just been decided over his head.

 

//

 

“Shall we head home?”, Bond will say when it’s way past midnight and Q is already rubbing at his eyes.

“Just another 5 minutes.”, will be the certain reply and both men will smile without looking at each other.

One agent of Q branch once tried to take a photo of that scene, but there is nothing that escapes James Bond, and so the photograph is deleted by now.  

 

//

 

Q sits on the couch besides Bond when he finishes the Book on criminal psychology. He has his feet tucked under Bonds tights.

Folded away behind the very last page , there is a photograph.

It shows a tall man with untamable black curls and piercing eyes, and a small man with sandy brown hair in a cozy jumper. Both of them are smiling at each other in a way that indicates they didn’t know they were being photographed. It’s pure and loving.

“Oh.”, Q breaths, because they don’t really look like him and Bond, but then again, he supposes they do, in the way they are.  

James leans over to take the photo out of his hand. Q notices that the edges are soft, as if it has been hold in hand and looked at as often as the book has.

He watches as James studies the photograph , until a smile spreads over his lips that says he knows something that Q doesn’t. 

 

//

 

It happens soon after that.

“I’m home!”

Q slips out of his shoes instantly looking to the couch for Bond. A delicious flavor tickles past his nose.

“Kitchen!”, calls the much deeper voice, setting a feeling of welcome familiarity into Q’s stomach.

 When he rounds the corner separating him from the kitchen he is greeted with the sight of Bond pottering around at the stove. The red apron that is tied around his neck and back pulls his shirt tight over his back and his jeans stretch taut over his bottom. Q swallows. Why are these suddenly the first things he notices?

Bond turns around from where he was handling a big pan and smiles at him. It sets Q’s stomach on fire.

“Are you hungry?”, the agent asks as he starts stirring one of the pots with his free hand, his eyes never leaving Q. The deep blue pierces right through his heart. What a unwavering feeling, just like-    

_Oh._

The young Quartermaster takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

_Shit._

The realization hits him so hard, it feels like all the air is punched out of his lungs.

_Oh Shit._

How could he not have seen this? How could he not have noticed while everyone else had? How? Right in front of his eyes …

_Shit._

When he finds the courage to open his eyes again Bond has put down the pan and is a great deal closer than before. The older raises a hand to place on Q’s shoulder.

“Q? What’s wrong? If you pass out on me-“

_Oh Shit, Shit, Shit._

“I just realized that I am in love with you …”, he blurs out, his voice edging on panic, because, well _shit_.

Bond stops his hand mid air. His brows furrow in confusion.

“Yes …”, he says warily, drawing the vocals out. His hand stays stock still, inches from Q’s shoulder.

The Quartermaster feels his shoulders tens to the point where it hurts.

“… I knew that already.”

Bonds face is a field of honest confusion. Q nearly chokes on his own breath.

“S-Sorry … what?”

“I know that you are in love with me. It’s not exactly news, is it? It’s the first thing everybody notices when they encounter us together, isn’t it?”

“But I thought that was … I mean … I-“, Q swallows his own words, takes a hasty breath and starts again. “Since when have you know?”

Bond smirks and drops his hovering hand on Q’s shoulder. Q is not sure which gesture causes the shiver that runs down his spine.

“I think I got around it when you fell asleep on my shoulder for the first time. You mumbled my name in your sleep…”

“That’s quite a bit …”, Q mutters and then falls silent. He can’t quite care about the fact that he talks in his sleep right now. The silence stretches out as Bond draws warm circles into his neck, with the pad of his thumb.  

Q feels his shoulders relax and something suddenly occurs to him.

“Why are you still here? If you have known …”, Q’s voice is small and the crease on Bonds forehead is back, ” … why haven’t you run yet?”

“I thought it would have been obvious.”

Q searches Bonds face for clues.

“Not to me.”, he says. There is nothing he can make of the way Bond’s blue eyes spark, or the way the corners of his lips quirk up in fondness.

“Well I can’t tell you. Not yet at least.”

There is this smile on James face, the one that says he knows.

“And what now?”

 They are moving in circles and Q is not sure he likes that anymore. 

He is about to voice that thought, when he is pressed against the doorframe.

He jerks his head up in surprise, eyes flying open. Bond is towering over him, so close their breaths mingle.

“What the-“, Q starts, opting for strong, but all that comes out is a breathy whisper.

Bonds tights press him closer against the frame. His self assured grin is laced with a fondness, that makes Q’s cheeks turn red .

“Now I’m going to show you exactly, how _little_ I think of running anywhere then towards you, …”, the agent growls and Q can feel it vibrate through him, where their chests are pressed together.

He tastes it as Bond licks into his mouth.

As Q melts into Bonds touch, he thinks that it certainly would be hard for the agent to run away, with Q wrapped so tightly around him and all his things scattered around the(their) flat.     

 

**Author's Note:**

> Visit http://eptastory.tumblr.com/ for more :)


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